


cut it out and then restart

by Macremae



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Hair Braiding, M/M, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 05:32:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16549871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macremae/pseuds/Macremae
Summary: After the long recovery process begins, Newt grows his hair out.





	cut it out and then restart

It begins, as most things in Newt’s life do, with Hermann.

About four months into the grand adventure that is Newt’s recovery, they’re sitting on the couch in their little shared flat in Tokyo. It’s a nice place, close enough to the Shatterdome for the PPDC’s monitoring purposes, but well suited for privacy. Hermann had taken him shopping for furniture at the IKEA a few miles away, and the space is full of cheap furniture, posters, knick-knacks, pillows, and other cozy items. It’s a far cry from Newt’s old apartment, warm and cluttered where the other was spartan and sleek. Newt loves it. It feels exactly like what he’s been missing the past ten years: a home.

The couch is an old, worn piece, thrifted from a second-hand store they originally visited to buy a broken-in leather jacket. It’s a soft blue color with nice fabric and cushy seats that swallow you whole. Thrown across the back are a couple of blankets salvaged from the penthouse (the precursors may have been evil, but they knew how to pick a good blanket), as well as Hermann’s family quilt.

Said quilt is wrapped around them now as they cuddle on the couch, Newt burrowed into Hermann’s side. Touch is something he’s relished these past few months, and Hermann has been happy to give it. Newt is rarely without a hand on his shoulder or an arm around his waist, grounding him in a way that is beyond words.

Hermann cards a hand through Newt’s hair, the feeling gloriously calming. Beside him, Newt pillows his head on Hermann’s chest and lazily watches his fingers tap on the blanket. The morning is quiet and serene, coffee cooling on the table in front of them and the windows open to catch a cool breeze and birdsong.

“We need to get you a haircut,” says Hermann, fingertips brushing across Newt’s head. Newt shrugs.

“I dunno. I kind like it longer.”

“It’s scruffy,” he replies, wrinkling his nose a bit. It’s adorable. “You’ll get a mullet if you don’t trim it properly.”

With a laugh that’s wonderfully light, Newt says, “So we’ll trim it and grow it out. I’ve never had long hair before. Maybe it’s time to try something new.”

Hermann meets Newt’s eyes. “And you’re sure this isn’t some late midlife crisis of yours?”

“Yeah, Herms, I’m pretty sure that was taken up by getting possesed.” He grins. “What-- you don’t want more of this to play with?”

Hermann goes a little pink. “Hmmph. I much prefer your hair without any of that disgusting product.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t answer my question.” Newt blinks up at him with the faintest hint of insecurity in his eyes. “Would you like my hair if it were longer?”

He presses a kiss to the top of Newt’s head. “I like your hair at any length, but wouldn’t mind if there was more to do with it.”

Newt wriggles in place and nestles further into Hermann’s chest. “Just imagine,” he says, “you could braid it, or plait it, or put it up in buns and stuff. That’d be nice.”

“It’ll get all in your face while you’re growing it out.”

“So we buy some clips and hair ties,” Newt replies. “It’ll be cool.”

It _is_ cool, actually, as Newt’s hair grows more over the next few months. By the time one year rolls around, it falls down to just below his chin. He keeps it up in a partial ponytail, pinning the stray bangs with hair clips around the crown. Hermann thinks it looks adorable and Newt thinks it looks punk, so they both enjoy themselves.

The odd thing they discover, however, is that Newt’s hair isn’t straight. It’s wavy, falling in fuzzy curls around his ears and twisting up in little ringlets around his forehead when it gets windswept. First the Mako-like bob comes, brushing against his round cheeks, then a little longer to where it comes down to brush his shoulders. The color is lighter as it goes down, turning from a dark brown to a kind of smoky chestnut. At this point Newt can fully put it up in a ponytail, and it bobs cheerfully behind him as he bounces around the apartment.

Then comes the point where it falls down to his collarbones, and that’s when the real fun begins. A messy bun quickly creeps its way to being Newt’s number one style, and little strands fall around his face like a tiny halo. Hermann takes to brushing them away from his eyes when he’s feeling particularly tender. The bun itself is a hodgepodge of curls and waves, falling fatly around the middle of Newt’s head. It flops up and down as he walks, tilting from side to side like a drunken sailor. 

Hermann thinks his favorite hairstyle of Newt’s is when it’s down, falling like a tumbling waterfall around his face and shoulders. Then he can run his hands through it, stroke it gently with his fingers, and comb it across his palm. It’s soft now, healing from the damage brought on by malnutrition and lack of care. The color is lush and brown, and glows a warm mahogany in the sunlight, rustling back and forth like a wave.

Newt’s therapist has a couple things to say about the new change, as he finds out in a session about a year and a quarter in. Dr. Tulomere crosses her legs and looks pointedly at it, currently loose and free.

“So why did you grow your hair out?” she says, getting straight to the point. Newt shrugs.

“I don’t know. Maybe I wanted something different.”

Tulomere makes a humming noise and puts her pencil to her lips. “Alright. Interesting theory.” Then, as always, “Would you like to know what I think?”

“You’ve usually been pretty helpful with it before, doc,” Newt says good-naturedly. She smiles.

“Well, I’ve got two theories. The first is that you simply wanted longer hair so you could have something to hide behind. Do you think that’s true?”

Newt shakes his head. “Nah. I put it up all the time, and Hermann’s been looking up new styles and stuff for it. What’s your second one?”

“To put it simply,” she replies, “I think you wanted to change your appearance so you could have something to distance yourself from the past version of you who was possessed. You wanted a physical, qualifiable barrier between you and that person, and longer hair certainly does a lot to accomplish that. It frames your face differently, projects a different level of femininity versus masculinity, and, long story short, makes you look extremely unlike the man who supposedly hurt all those people.”

Newt kicks his legs back and forth in the hard plastic chair. “Yeah, that hits it pretty on the nose.” He pauses. “It’s just…”

Tulomere nods at him to continue, and he gathers his thoughts before speaking.

“The Precursors… everything had to be prefect with them. I was always… they were always… dressed up. Like, they wore suits all the time, and these tight clothes that weren’t even supposed to be tight, it was--- it sucked. And they kept this hairstyle that took a shit ton of product and trimming and everything. It was always super high maintenance with them. And like, I get it, they were a species obsessed with perfection. I mean, they bio-engineered their own kids for Christ’s sake. But everything had to be cut and dry and perfect. And I hated that.”

“So you grew your hair out to spite them?” Tulomere asks. Newt shrugs again.

“Kind of? I guess I’m sort of just enjoying being able to relax. In every sense of the word, I mean. I like my hair.” He nods. “Yeah. I like my hair, and they can’t change that.”

He runs a hand through it as if to prove his point, and can’t help but grin. Physical proof. He’s getting better.


End file.
